


so very employed

by bogfenwetland



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 11:56:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15557190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bogfenwetland/pseuds/bogfenwetland
Summary: a coffee shop au, but hyperrealistic.





	so very employed

**Author's Note:**

> i used to LOVE coffee shops aus but since i started working in a cafe last year they’ve become unreadable to me.

The flush of grinding beans rushes back into the kitchen, meeting your ears from your perch on the step into the storage room. The steamer on the espresso machine rings like a transition screen from _How It’s Made_ and the chatter out front is drowned out by The Supremes, who are playing just a little too loudly on the order tablet back here. You’ve been at work since nine this morning, supposed to leave an hour ago but staying until close at six because Doc fucked up the schedule again and left Wynonna alone on bar with nobody staffed for the kitchen. You don’t hate him, but god he is a dumb bitch. And he doesn’t pay you enough for this.

Wynonna calls for help at the register because she’s busy making a cortado to take to the guy from the boutique down the street that she has a thing for who doesn’t feel the same way but you aren’t gonna be the one to tell her. You head out of the kitchen, grabbing a few cappuccino mugs off the rack to replace the dwindling supply out front. You make it a step into the front of the store before doubling back to turn off the rinse sink, which you really don’t want to overflow again. And switching off the oven because it’s late enough in the day where you don’t need to make any more eggs or croissants and it’s getting too hot in here. Wynonna yells again.

A younger guy stands at the register, red checkered flannel french tucked into brown corduroy pants and desert boots. He’s staring at his phone, not looking up when you approach him and greet him with your trademark Shorty’s Cafe smile. He says one word to you: macchiato. So you launch into your spiel about how ‘we serve traditional macchiatos so they’re small, three ounce drinks and if you’re looking for something more like a Starbucks macchiato you would probably want to go for one of our lattes, which are twelve or sixteen ounce drinks with one of our double-shots and steamed milk, or you could get it iced.’ He grunts. You guess that means he wants a latte.

You grab one of the twelve ounce paper cups from under the register, assuming from this guy’s general demeanor that he would want it in a takeaway cup rather than in a mug to sit in the store. You slide it into one of the sleeves you had stamped with the Shorty’s logo during your slow shift last Sunday then take the Sharpie by the register and write the letter ‘L’ on it. You tell the guy it’ll be four dollars and he places his phone on the Square reader on the counter. You make a joke about how Apple Pay can be kind of finicky. He doesn’t laugh. Once he hears the ding of the payment going through he walks to the waiting chairs by the bar, leaving you to sign a bullshit name on the signature prompt. His new name is Dickie Smalls.

The cup makes a nice hollow sound as you place it on the bar and wait for Wynonna to come back from her fake boyfriend’s store. You aren’t dialed in, so you can’t even spend your downtime out front making the drink. You bring one leg up to lean on the bottom of the counter under the cash drawer, taking the whiteboard marker you use to write notes for the front staff about the status of the kitchen and drawing a picture of Dickie Smalls on the bagel list. He has reverse cankles. You tune out entirely, focused on the drawing and trying not to listen to that one Shakey Graves song that plays every day because Doc only lets you use one damn playlist out front. You want to go back to the kitchen because you have your sixties slammers playlist on back there, but Wynonna is still out. Mr. Smalls clears his throat in the corner. You tell him his drink will be a few minutes because the barista on bar stepped out. No comment.

The opening notes of The Contours’ ‘Do You Love Me’ come blaring out from the kitchen and you sprint back to turn it down. Doc doesn’t like it when customers can hear both playlists from the front. You spin back to face the register when you hear the weird suction sound the shop’s door makes when it opens, locking eyes with your favorite customer. She smiles at you brightly from in front of the counter. You are in love with her. It’s not a big deal.

She’s a cop, which you’re hesitant about but she’s really hot so it isn’t a deal breaker. You also watched her arrest a guy for kicking a stray dog outside the store, so you think you can trust her. She’s still in her uniform, like she is every Thursday when she comes in at 5:15 which would usually make you mad because it’s so close to lockup but you can make an exception for her. She also apologizes for coming in so late every time, so it’s okay.

She leads with that apology as you skip towards the register. You laugh too hard and tell her it’s okay, like you always do. She starts to say her order, but you stop her halfway through and finish it for her. She gets a sixteen ounce mocha latte every time she’s here, but you told her once when you were the scheduled barista that you hate when people ask for their ‘usual’ because it makes them sound like they’re more important than they are, so she makes a point to say her order every time. You are in love with her. It is a big deal.

She also orders a peanut butter and jelly sandwich every Thursday, which you know she eats in her cruiser before her night shift starts at six because she told you that once. You love that about her too, because it’s the easiest sandwich on the menu to make. You always give her extra potato chips with it because it’s not like it’s hard to take an extra handful out of the Herr’s Kettle Chip bag by the prep board in the kitchen. One of these days you’re gonna give her the off-duty employee and friend’s discount of twenty percent, but that’s a really big step for you two.

You always write ‘hot cop’ on the order ticket instead of giving her an order number, which she never notices because she doesn’t ask for a receipt. You’re also gonna ask her name one of these days. You hear the order ding on the tablet in the back and you offer her a kind of shy smile and tell her that Wynonna, the barista, is gone still so her drink will be a few minutes. She laughs and nods as she says it’s okay and her short hair bounces a little bit around her shoulders. You wonder what it would be like to have your hands tangled in that hair, holding her head between your--

Wynonna opens the door to the store and tells you you’re good to go back to the kitchen and make the cop’s order. You blush and laugh and hot cop looks at you weird. You guess she can read minds or something. You tell Wynonna about Dickie and hot cop’s drinks and she says she’s got it, sis, so you head back and start to make the peanut butter and jelly.

Janis Joplin is playing and you turn Spotify up again, you love this song. _Take it!_ You put two pieces of sourdough bread in the toaster. _Take another little piece of my heart now, baby._ You spread the kind of greasy all-natural organic peanut butter on one piece and the local blueberry jam on the other. _Break it!_ You cut the sandwich and wrap it in one sheet of tinfoil then one sheet of wax paper. _Break another little bit of my heart now, darling._ You stuff the food into a paper bag along with a napkin and the chips. _Have a!_ You tap the order off the tablet so Wynonna doesn’t walk back and see that you call this regular ‘hot cop.’ _Have another little piece of my heart now, baby._ You walk out front, clutching the bag a little tightly.

Hot cop is sitting on the waiting chairs, Dickie Smalls having left just a bit ago. Wynonna is making conversation with her, as all good baristas should do. Hot cop’s voice is adorable and you wonder what she would sound like if you had her pinned under you in your bed and--

Wynonna says your name and you blink out of whatever that just was. Hot cop is staring at you, smiling all sneaky and cute. You’re looking between her and Wynonna and blushing. You say you have the PB&J. Hot cop stands and takes the bag from you. Your hands brush together for a second and you are ready and willing to die. She thanks you and makes so much eye contact and then she’s talking to Wynonna again about leatherworking or something and Wynonna brings up how you used to do some ironworks with a local old lady. She introduces you as her baby sister to hot cop and hot cop reaches out to take your hand in a handshake because of course she’s charming and maybe a little old fashioned but that means she’ll want to have kids and you can grow old together and sit on the porch--

Her name is Nicole. Nicole Haught. Haught cop. You laugh so hard at this. She tilts her head and smiles again, this bitch just loves smiling you guess. There’s no way you’re gonna explain your stupid inside joke to her, especially not with Wynonna right there because if she finds out you’re into a customer she’ll never let you live it down. You two always talk about how shitty everyone who shops here is. Dickie Smalls, for instance.

You tell her your name is Waverly Earp and she repeats it back to you with something like a southern drawl and you are, like, maybe aroused. She says it was nice finally getting to know your name because she always wanted to ask but didn’t want to make you uncomfortable at work. God, she is so thoughtful. You’re still holding her hand as if to shake it but you’re both completely still and you look into her eyes and then find yourself blurting out that you would love to take her out but you didn’t want to make her uncomfortable when she was trying to get dinner. Screw Wynonna, you’ll deal with her backlash later.

She laughs again. Hello, Jesus. How’s it going today? Oh, everything’s good here. Thanks for asking. It’s just that you are behaving like a child around Haught cop, so. She asks if you mean take her out as in a date or take her out as in have her assassinated and you giggle. Motherfucker. You tell her as a date and she says yes. Wynonna guffaws from behind you. You can see her writing something else on Haught cop’s cup, and she hands it to her. Haught cop smiles (come on) and you see that the cup has your phone number on it. Wynonna, queen of big sisters. Ultimate bitch. You love her. Haught cop tells you that she actually doesn’t have the night shift today but had just fallen into the routine of coming to Shorty’s on Thursdays, so maybe you would want to do something tonight? Around seven?

You absolutely do not have the heart to tell her that because you’ve spent so much time fucking around all day and listening to The Temptations that you have way too much closing work to do to get out that early. Instead, you decide that you will haul ass and meet her in her cruiser at seven.

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to my coworkers lmao. i wrote this at 11pm after i gave up on sleeping on a cold tile floor, so that's how y'all know it's good shit.


End file.
